


Lightbulb

by benedictcumberlongpond



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Post 9.01, Spoilers 9.01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 03:53:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictcumberlongpond/pseuds/benedictcumberlongpond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's soul shone too brightly out of his face, it obscured and covered, it bathed Castiel in a warm glow. It wasn't until after the fall that Cas could appreciate the planes and features that made up his hunter. Not explicit, posted on tumblr as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lightbulb

When light bulbs were first invented, Castiel thought they looked like tiny souls that had been trapped in glass cases. A perfect metaphor for his beautiful humans. So fragile and lovely, and so easily put out. 

All the lights in Castiel’s world were switched off. 

The shining beacons of his brothers and sisters were dimmed, the fuse broken on his connection to the universe.

Castiel had seen his hunter’s face exactly once before. Dean’s soul shone too brightly, obscured his features like a flood light. It had been different when Castiel had experienced drained grace, in the car driving to Chicago, again in the cemetery in Kansas, but then his focus had mostly been on Lucifer. 

It wasn’t like now. With his entirely human eyes, his suddenly thumping pulse, his dry throat. 

Dean was beautiful as his soul, his body a vessel for the purity Castiel knew was inside. From the sweep of his cheekbones to the perfect curve of his jaw, the jut of his nose and the perplexing green of his eyes. 

“You wanna take a picture, or what?” Dean remarked when he first caught Cas staring, unblinking, from the passenger’s seat of the Impala. 

Dean hadn’t mentioned the fact his trench coat was gone and he was covered in scratches, drying blood on his arms, his lips so chapped they were white and cracking. He had just handed him a towel and a few water bottles, told him to wipe his feet before he got in the car. 

“I don’t have a camera.” Cas replied slowly, although he had heard that phrase before. _Take a picture, it will last longer._ He didn’t fully understand it. What picture would last longer than the Winchesters? 

Dean just snorted from the seat beside him, wrists resting on the steering wheel, window cracked enough to let a whistling breeze fill the car. 

“Any particular reason for the staring-treatment?” Dean asked him, his face scrunching in something Castiel could recognize as discomfort. 

“Sorry,” he replied immediately, shifting his eyes back to the road, watching the light of the Impala play over the asphalt, the shadows of the night being cracked open against the violent brightness of yellow and white. Cas’ eyes drifted back to Dean’s face. 

There were faded crinkles near his eyes, like folds in material, carefully smoothed now but obvious in their dormancy, like they would pop at any moment, deepening and stretching into the laugh lines Cas had first seen about an hour ago when Dean had asked him if he needed a cuddle and Cas had swayed into his body almost immediately.

He had missed Dean’s mutter of _‘sarcasm, dude’_ as the ex-angel pressed his face into the warmth of Dean’s chest. 

“Seriously?” Dean said now, noticing Castiel’s eyes on him, sounding that fond mix of amusement and annoyance that Cas always managed to draw out of him. 

“I haven’t seen your face properly before,” Cas explained, wanting Dean to just be quiet and look at the road, give Castiel this one pleasure after all the… 

He didn’t really want to think about it, and he dimly considered the phrase ‘emotional repression’ as he shrugged and turned back to Dean. 

“What did you see in place of my face, then? Just ‘heaven’s bitch’ imprinted on my forehead? ‘Coz that would make a lot of sense.”

“Your soul,” Cas replied, noting the way that Dean’s awkward smile differed from his amused smile, noting the way his smile cleared when those words sunk in. 

“That must be… a whole lot of nasty for you, then.” Dean said, jaw hardening, eyes unblinking on the road. Cas felt himself squinting, his head cocking to the left as he considered his strange human. 

“It was beautiful, Dean.” Cas said honestly, watching for Dean’s reaction.

“Dude,” Dean muttered uncomfortably. 

“It was.” Cas insisted. 

Dean shifted in his seat, looking out over the headlights. 

“It wasn’t… by Hell or anything?” Dean said lowly.

“It wasn’t what by hell?” 

“Y’know… twisted or…” Dean shrugged, not making eye contact, giving Cas free reign to stare over his face. 

“No, Dean. I put you back together. I healed your soul the moment I laid my hand on you.” Cas explained slowly. “Hell couldn’t dim you, Dean Winchester.” 

Dean shot him a look, awe maybe, or shock. Cas couldn’t tell the difference yet, he needed more research. After a moment he composed his self, gaze returning to the road. 

“Well you still look like a pretty-boy, Cas.” Dean mumbled. “Skinner, though. You been eating?”

Cas muffled a smile and nodded solemnly, remembering the pink-tinged embarrassment of color that would splash on the edges of his soul whenever Cas passed a compliment to him, enjoying the warm glow on Dean’s skin instead. Cas imagined the heat on his skin, the blood vessels expanding near the surface, his freckles in sharp relief. 

“We’re gunna have to teach you to tone down the staring if we’re gunna take you out in public,” Dean muttered, looking over at Cas pointedly. 

Castiel didn’t think it would be too much of a problem, he only really wanted to stare at Dean, which he would have been able to do quite easily if Dean would just concentrate on the road and be quiet. 

“Ca-”

“Sh, Dean.” Cas said, reaching over and pressing two fingers to his mouth. Dean’s jaw snapped shut with an audible _click_ , eyes going wide, shooting around the car desperately before settling on the road. Cas took his hand away and looked bemusedly at the white print fading back to red on his lips as the pressure was alleviated. 

So they stayed like that, Dean awkwardly focused on the road, gradually settling into the routine as Cas cataloged every part of his face until his own eyes grew heavy and he tilted his head into the glass of the passenger side window. 

“I think I have to,” Cas gestured vaguely to the back of his head and Dean’s grin slipped into place, crinkles appearing and disappearing like a magic act. 

“Sleep? Sure. I’ll wake you up when we get home.” Dean said softly, and Cas nodded as his eyes slipped closed. 

He could feel a slight prickle on his skin, like goosebumps, like cold, but when he cracked an eye open, he saw it was just Dean watching him. 

“Take a picture,” Cas mumbled, and Dean’s grin flashed in and out of existence as his eyes refocused on the asphalt. 

The darkness split around the Impala as they rumbled towards the bunker, and Cas’ last conscious thought was of the echoing rumble-hum from Dean’s chest, a song Cas had heard before but couldn’t quite place, before he was out like a light.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my Cas, thank you all for reading!


End file.
